


where is my mind?

by melonfucker69



Category: Misfits (TV 2009)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Childhood Trauma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Fuck the writers of misfits, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, I Made Myself Cry, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I just really love Simon Bellamy, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Psychological Trauma, Self-Discovery, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27869585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonfucker69/pseuds/melonfucker69
Summary: “Simon, honey…” An annoyed groan left the named boy’s lips, nose scrunching as his mother adjusted his collar. Simon squirmed in his button up shirt, and the clearly gifted sweater draped over.“We can try to have a good first day, yeah?” The kind faced woman brushed the hair from her son’s face. Simon simply nodded in response.When he had gotten in the car he found himself picking at the skin on his fingers. Simon’s shoulders hunched, his eyes locked onto the brown tote bag at his feet.“You doing okay, hon?” Simon, as per usual, did not have a response. “Nervous?” His mother tried to make conversation with him, but it never seemed to work. Simon knew how to talk, but he could never seem to find any words of actual meaning. Even a, “Yes I’m doing okay,” is deemed a waste of breath, and it wasn’t like his mom would believe him.“Have a good day…” His mother chimes at the end of their drive, her voice trailing at the end.Simon Bellamy vs. The World
Relationships: Simon Bellamy/Nathan Young
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	where is my mind?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " ... Despite the expansive feeling of the halls as they spread out before him, with each step he felt more and more suffocated. . Simon fumbled with his sweater, a finger gaining leverage in his too-tight collar, eyes keeping themselves glued onto the numbers atop the doors. Even the small permanence of a school year had become overwhelming... "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> possible trigger warnings for this chapter ; bullying
> 
> ty to [syndicates](https://archiveofourown.org/users/syndicates/pseuds/syndicates) sister extraordinare for editing all this. not to mention enabling my love for iwan rheon. 
> 
> this entire fic is simply one massive "fuck you" to the writers of misfits for doing my man simon bellamy dirty.

“Simon, honey…” An annoyed groan left the named boy’s lips, nose scrunching as his mother adjusted his collar. Simon squirmed in his button up shirt, and the clearly _gifted_ sweater draped over. 

“We can try to have a good first day, yeah?” The kind faced woman brushed the hair from her son’s face. Simon simply nodded in response.

When he had gotten in the car he found himself picking at the skin on his fingers. Simon’s shoulders hunched, his eyes locked onto the brown tote bag at his feet.

“You doing okay, hon?” Simon, as per usual, did not have a response. “Nervous?” His mother tried to make conversation with him, but it never seemed to work. Simon knew _how_ to talk, but he could never seem to find any words of actual meaning. Even a, “Yes I’m doing okay,” is deemed a waste of breath, and it wasn’t like his mom would believe him.

“Have a good day…” His mother chimes at the end of their drive, her voice trailing at the end. _What could she say?_ What could she _do_ to console her son, when he wouldn’t even _try_ to communicate with his own family?

Simon, already out of the car, gives a small wave. 

Already, he felt he could hear the whispers, feel the peering eyes following his every move. 

“Hey- look at the new kid.” He could hear someone say, then snicker, then turn back to gossip.

Simon glanced towards the two; a scrawny blonde kid and his— Simon assumed— girlfriend.

Despite the expansive feeling of the halls as they spread out before him, with each step he felt more and more suffocated. Simon fumbled with his sweater, a finger gaining leverage in his too-tight collar, eyes keeping themselves glued onto the numbers atop the doors. Even the concept of the small permanence of a school year easily becomes overwhelming. 

“Simon?” His world of thought is shattered by an unfamiliar voice. “Would you like to introduce yourself to the class?” Simon, despite only being eight years old, already knows that this question was rhetorical. You couldn’t say “no” to a teacher.

“Uh—“ As dictated by the norms Simon has only peripheral knowledge of, Simon obediently stands. “My name’s- uhm- Sim-“ he stutters through his sentence. Simon’s eyes drift to the boy he’d seen earlier. 

Simon realizes that hadn’t internalized he was in the room until then. In fact, he’d failed to recognize most of the people that shared the classroom with him. The blonde’s face contorts into a grin, and as he turns to face his friends, Simon feels a knot form in the bottom of his gut. 

“Kid can’t even say his name right.” The snide remark is punctuated by a chorus of snickers. “What a twat..” 

“Matthew, do you have anything to add?” The boy falls silent at the teacher’s scolding. “Go on Simon… It’s alright.” She smiled.

“Simon- Bellamy.” Again, he stuttered.

Through the rest of the class Simon did his best to ignore the small comments from who he presumed to be _Matt_ and focus on the teacher. There’d been a few times where he’d flinch at the sharp sound of a wooden ruler snapping like a bullet out of a barrel on the plastic desk of a dozing student, but otherwise he’d found it easy enough.

At the chime of the bell, Simon winces, but in a beat follows the rest of the students in shoving books into his tote bag. He walks out of the building and beelines directly to his mom’s car. Normally, kids would talk about how great their day was. They would mention how many friends they’d made. Third grade was a time to make friends that wouldn’t last till high school.

Simon did not do this.

He shuffled into the car, practically tossing his bag by his feet.

“Did you have a good day, honey?” Simon offers a quiet hum of acknowledgement, and fixes his eyes absently towards the road.

* * *

"What the hell is wrong with you? That's our son!"

Voices volley across the room like bullets, seemingly without a care of where the shrapnel lands. 

"Our son doesn't know how to be normal!"

“...He’s a _child_.”

“He’s not ready for a sister.”

Unbeknownst to Simon, this argument had lasted the entirety of his school day. Thankfully, it ceased once his mother had looked at the clock and saw 3:00 signalled by its hands.

“We’ll tell him when I’m back. Alright? He’ll handle it.”

She grabs her keys, closing the door a bit more aggressively than she intended before jumping into her car.

“Did you have a good day, honey?”

Alys frowned as Simon hums, and says nothing.

“Any new friends?”

He turned to face the window. His mother took the hint that this was a _no_.

“Well..” She starts, swallowing a lump that had begun to form in her throat, “your dad and I have to have a talk with you when we get back home, okay?” She ruffles her son’s hair. “ _You’re not in trouble_. Don’t worry.”

The possible implications of the last bit reverberated in Simon’s head the rest of the car ride. That wasn’t— couldn’t be true.

The car ride was silent (as it usually was). 

Simon burst out of the car like a cat that’s been subjected to the claustrophobic confines of a plastic carrier for entirely too long. He speed walks towards the front door, staring through the glass. 

“Alright…” Alys sighs to herself, grabbing Simon’s tote bag before following him.

She opens the door, only for Simon to run towards the couch, sitting with his knees to his chest. Clearly, he wanted to be done with a conversation that hadn’t even happened yet.

“Honey- you know how you were born, yeah?” He _hated_ this discussion already. Simon just nodded, the expression on his face taut and unmoving. “Well…” 

“Your mum’s going to have another kid Simon.” Simon’s father, Aeron, interjects, clearly unsatisfied with the pace that his mother was taking. Simon blinks up at him, eyes moving between his parents. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come of it.

Another child. Simon wondered _why_. Were they going to return him?

“A sister!” At least his mother was excited.

Simon nods, staring at the carpet.

The rest of the day hung like the morning fog over Simon’s thoughts. School. Bullying. A sister. His mother would have a daughter to become closer with. A normal child. Maybe _she_ would speak.

Dinner was… uncomfortable. Both parents kept their eyes locked on Simon like an overlying judgement. He could feel their every gaze, slowly pushing him further into his seat. Again, he allowed the overwhelming largeness of the world to encase him in a tense bubble. 

“Are you excited, Simon?”

He faked a grin, nodding with expressionless eyes.

* * *

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a [twitter](https://twitter.com/sxfetydance?s=09)  
> ! ( mostly it's just my thoughts on simon bellamy it's nothing special) + I have a [playlist for this fic](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6hAZ9B9A0aqhSeb5PIG8iZ?si=28JqjJeKST-olVORdr1h0g)
> 
> [my sister's nathan fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28041588)
> 
> "iwan rheon liked my tweet and now I think I'm hot shit"


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